Our little river runs full and swift, spread over the banks to nearly twice its usual width; the water is a fine light green, quite different from its darker summer tint of transparent gray. It is singular that snow and ice in large quantities should always change the color of a stream which they have helped to fill; but so it is: all the waters which flow from the glaciers in Switzerland have a peculiar tint. With us, this effect is seen for a few days only, when the ice first breaks up in spring. Saw a caterpillar this afternoon, the first that has crossed our path.
Thursday, 30th.—The song-sparrows and bluebirds are here, and have been with us several days. The robins are getting quite numerous; they seem to come in detachments, or possibly they only pass from one neighborhood to another in flocks. Their note is very pleasant, and after the silent winter, falls with double sweetness on the ear. Their portly persons and warm red jackets make them very conspicuous flying about among the naked branches, or running over the wilted grass. They are more frequently seen on the ground than any other bird we have, excepting the sparrow, and it is amusing to watch the different gait of the two. The sparrow glides along with great agility and ease; whether in the grass or on the gravel, his movement is light and free: but robin usually makes more fuss; he runs by starts, drops his head, raises his tail, moves rapidly for a few feet, and then stops suddenly, repeating the same course of manœuvres until he takes flight. The European robin is a smaller bird than ours, and lives through the year as far north as England, cheering his native fields with a simple lay even during the cold weather: his habits are different from those of our own bird; he builds in grassy banks, and has a trick of scraping dead leaves together before
